by Ashley Love
"N-no," I let out, lifting a shaky hand to push my glasses back up because they're falling down my nose. When Blake speeds up, the wet sound of skin on skin loud in the very quiet library, my hand falls flat against his shoulder, fingers curling, trying to hold on because I feels like I'm falling, that swooping in my stomach again. "Fuck, Blake."
Blake laughs, rough and low. "Say it again," he orders, still managing to pump his dick with one hand while fingering me with the other, getting us both off at the same time. "Moan my name again."
I try to glare at him, but Blake's thumb glides over the tip of my clit and instead I close my eyes, head tilting back against the shelf. "Fuck you," I still get out.
Blake rubs my clit sharply at that. "Does it bother you?" he asks, lips at my neck again. "The fact that it feels this good. That I'm the one doing this to you, and you like it so much?"
My head slams into the spine of a book, and it hurts but fuck. I can't tell if it's Blake's words or his lips that send shivers through me, but it doesn't really matter because either way they're still because of Blake. That heat in my stomach is still Blake. My gasping breaths are Blake's, my whimpering moans are Blake's; in that moment, I'm Blake's. And he knows it.
"Why are you talking?" I whine. There's no other word for it. "Just...Blake."
He chuckles against me, but both his hands speeds up its movements, me pathetically grinding up into his hand, and the sound dies in his throat. Just like the first time, his teeth clamp down on my shoulder when he cums. He doesn't stop, except for the slight hitch in his movements as his body shudders. He pants against my neck, and I'm a mess with his slick fingers working me over. I'm not even trying to be quiet, at this point, as my hands grip the edges of the shelf and Blake's free hand comes up to cover my mouth.
That's probably a good thing, because I cum seconds later, choking back an embarrassing sound that Blake's fingers muffle. He wipes his hand on my panties, and I would glare at him for it if I could think.
He smirks, does up his own jeans, and then he leans in to whisper in my ear, "You look good wrecked," and then he's sauntering down the aisle, disappearing from sight.
I stare at his back before hurrying to do up my own jeans, making a face at the sticky mess Blake's made of my panties. Fuck, now I'm going to have to go change, but that's not really the biggest issue here, is it? No, the whole thing is a big issue, because I just hooked up with Blake again. And fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing to ever happen to me.
My heart is still racing, my breath is still unsteady, and I feel like my legs aren't strong enough to hold me up. But I bend down to pick up my phone, and I quickly send a text to Lucas.
Forget whatever I said. I'd love to come to the party : )
9
Cadence and Emma go to the game, but I stay in my room. They always go to games, though. Cadence is a big sports fan, and she refuses to miss any of the home games. And Emma isn't a big sports fan, but she's a big Cadence fan so she goes, too. I don't want to. I see no point. For one, I still don't fully understand the game. For another, being stuffed into a hard seat with people crowded in around me, everyone shouting, is not my idea of a good time.
Plus, I have work to do. So that's what I do, when my room is blissfully empty because Blake's too busy on the field. I need to get this done too, because I won't have time to work on it tonight, not when I already have plans.
Fuck. Am I really going through with this? Am I really going to go to this party? It's not my scene. There won't be anyone like me there. The guys that are throwing it are the type that I studiously avoid most of the time. Not to mention the fact that Blake will be there, and...I would like to avoid Blake for the rest of my life, really, because every time we look at each other he smirks this smug little smirk, like he knows he has me. It's horrible.
It's even more horrible because he's right.
It's like—every time we're alone together, there's that tension in the air that there always is, only it's different. It's not like the two of us waiting for the other to pick a fight, like it used to be. It's me waiting, wondering when Blake's going to kiss me again, but I like to to think that I wouldn't normally let that happen. That it only has happened because I was too pissed at Blake the last two times to think rationally. Under normal, calm circumstances, when my whole body doesn't feel like it's burning with anger or something else, I think I'd push him away.
I shake my head, tucking those thoughts away. I focus on my work instead, on reading my book for class, writing down important quotes for the paper I'm supposed to write on the antagonist. Only I don't have much left to do. I've been working on it all week, and it's nearly done, and before long I'm turning the last page.
With a sigh I get out of my chair and head for my dresser. I'm not sure why I do it, but I find myself using the hair gel Cadence gifted to me for no reason other than "You can't just hide it under a beanie every day, Aubrey," even though that's exactly what Cadence does.
In tenth grade, I started wearing my hair up because I thought it looked cool, and it was something I stuck with until twelfth grade when I was too busy with school, work, my part-time job, and student council to spend time making myself look better in the morning. Now I push it up into that style again, trying not to think about the fact that I'm actually putting effort into going to this party because that makes me lame, doesn't it? Whatever.
I change too, out of the dirty sweats I'd crawled out of bed and to class in because I was exhausted. Lastly I slide my glasses onto my face, just because. I don't need them all the time. My sight isn't really that bad, but I need them to read, and I like them.
Our team wins the game, unsurprisingly. They always win. I know this because of the guys running up and down the hall, whooping and cheering. In the next hour our common room will be filled, doors will be left open. That's how everyone celebrates, while I usually lock my door and take advantage of the fact that Blake will be out until late that night, getting shitfaced in celebration of the win.
Only tonight I don't do that. Tonight I pull on a sweater, grab my wallet for my I.D. and some cash in case I need to take a cab home, and I head for the statue of the school founder. It's just outside the science building, the closest building to the edge of campus, where I'm supposed to meet Lucas and the others.
It's cold out, the early November air making me pull my sweater in tighter around myself. Cadence and Emma are already at the statue when I get there, Lucas leaning heavily against it. Cadence has white and red paint on her cheeks, and Emma has a tiny smudge of it on her neck, like Cadence had rubbed it there while putting her own paint on.
"Aubrey!" Lucas says loudly, and then he's engulfing me in a tight hug, like that's something that we do. It's not. "Thought you might not show."
"I told you I would," I remind him.
"And it'll piss Blake off," Cadence adds. "So you know she wouldn't miss a chance to do that."
Lucas laughs. "You two are so crazy," he says. "I think you'd actually like each other if you'd stop fighting for two seconds."
"I think they'd more than like each other," Cadence says slyly. Emma punches her for it, and I'm grateful.
Lucas looks confused by that admission, so I quickly ask, "Are we going now?" before he can question what Cadence meant by that.
The four of us walk down the streets lit up by streetlights, the moon already hanging in the sky that's only just turned from navy to deep black. As we walk, Cadence and Emma chat, and Lucas keeps up with them easily, as if they do this all the time. I'm weirdly nervous. The only thing I can think about is Blake telling me not to come.
Lucas wasn't lying when he said this party would be different. First, it's closer to campus, only a short two minute walk to the single family home. It's squat, one floor, and music isn't pouring onto the streets. People aren't stumbling to and from the building.
I hang back, letting Lucas go in first, but he holds the door open for all of us, so I have no choice
but to step inside.
There are no crowds this time. The hallway is mostly empty save for one couple making out against the wall. Lucas leads us straight through it towards the kitchen. The kitchen, on the other hand, that is fairly crowded. There's a large table, with couples seated all around it. Guys in jerseys with girls on their laps and drinks halfway to their mouths. All of them seem to look up when the four of us walk into the room.
"Lucas!" someone shouts.
"Who the fuck is that?" someone else asks.
"What's up?" Lucas says, nodding. "These are the people I told you I was inviting."
"What's up, Lucas's friends?" someone says, and the others laugh. I shift uncomfortably.
"Drinks," Lucas decides. "Let's get drinks. Any of you want beer, or we've got, uh, vodka, rum, gin—ew, who the fuck brought that? Shit tastes like rubbing alcohol."
"I'll have vodka and coke," Cadence says. "Thanks."
Lucas nods and grabs plastic cups and begins filling them with the contents from one of the many, many bottles on the counter, all of them ranging from half empty to completely empty. A cup is pressed into my hands, and I don't even protest it.
Afterwards, Lucas leads us out of the room. "We don't hang out in the kitchen," he explains. "Jeremy and the guys stay up there all night. All they do is dry hump in the chairs. The real party's downstairs."
Now that he's said it, I can feel it, the music thumping under my feet. We're guided through the house to a door that Lucas opens, and finally there's the music I've been waiting for, spilling out into the upstairs until I shut the door behind myself.
There's smoke everywhere too, the smell of weed heavy in the air. At the bottom of the stairs I pause, taking a look around. There's a flat screen against one wall, a football game (of course) playing. There's a pool table, too, as well as an entire area with nothing but people dancing and a stereo system. There's only about thirty people, though, which can't even be half the amount at the other party.
That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good, because it's not as crowded. Bad, because everyone looks at us. In a larger crowd, it's easier to disappear. In a larger crowd, there's not much individuality. No one cares who you are, what you look like. The smaller the crowd, the closer people start looking.
I duck my head and sip my drink.
Eventually the party settles back down around us, and Lucas loops his arm with mine, pulling me through the room. There's a couch, where Blake sits with a drink in his hands, watching the TV. There's a girl beside him, one who puts her feet in his lap. Stupidly, something like annoyance rises in me but I turn my head and pretend it never happened, just as Blake lifts his gaze and meets my eyes.
"See?" Lucas says, elbowing me gently. "Better, right? It's not crazy in here. We're just relaxing, you know?"
"Yeah," I say, throat dry. I gulp down my drink, even though it burns.
I have no idea where Emma and Cadence went, though the room isn't all that big. Somehow the two of them always manage to do this, and I have no idea how. They don't mean to, either, and I know it. They get distracted by someone they know, get caught up in trying to find another drink, start chatting to people and forget all about me. I don't fault them for it, since I figure the fact that I never come with them to parties plays a big part in them forgetting I'm there on the rare chance that I do.
Lucas invites me to play pool, but I beg off, using going to get a new drink as an excuse. I just...I don't want to be here, is the thing. Blake was right, I shouldn't have come, because I don't fit in here. I don't fit in with the beefy guys cheering at the game on the screen with their arms around a pretty girl's waist. I don't fit in with the intoxicated group playing a laughable game of pool. I don't fit in with the people dancing.
There's nowhere here for me.
I start for the stairs to get another drink, but there's a group blocking the bottom, and I don't feel like having to shoulder past them just to get upstairs. Instead I lean against a wall and suck down the last drops of my drink so it looks like I'm doing something as I wait for them to move.
My gaze shifts around the room, and it lands on Blake. He's on the dance floor now, some girl's back pressed against his front. He's got his chin resting on her shoulder, and a hand on her stomach, holding them tightly together. "Ohhh, ohhh, I'm falling, so I'm taking my time on my riiiide" plays from the speakers as Blake's eyes meet mine. That smirk spreads over his lips, and I can't turn away, even as Blake's lips press to the girl's neck and she tilts her head back. Even as his hand slides lower, dangerously close to the waistband of her skirt. And he's still holding my gaze.
I stomp towards the stairs. I shoulder past the group there without blinking, heading for the kitchen to get a drink, just like Lucas told me to do.
Just as it had been the first time, the kitchen is pretty full. The same couples sit at the table, but now there's a group getting drinks. I wait until they're done to get myself one, but as I'm heading back to the basement, someone blocks my path.
"Aubrey, right?" the guy asks.
"Uh, yeah," I say, slow, confused. "Can I—"
"Who invited the nerd?" someone behind him asks.
My cheeks burn. It's not like this is my first time getting picked on (which is what's happening here, I have no doubt in my mind about this), but it's a little surprising. I thought that everyone had outgrown this shit after high school, but apparently it's all the same.
"Excuse me," I grit, trying to move past the guy blocking my way.
The guy moves so he's still blocking my path. Behind him, someone asks, "Hey, maybe he could do my paper for me."
The one in front of him tugs my glasses off my face, putting them on himself. My hands curl at my sides, but I don't move. I'm not stupid, I've been in this situation countless times. It's best to just take it and wait until I can walk away, because I don't feel like getting hassled right now. Everyone in this room has about forty pounds on me, at the least, and they're all teammates, which means that if you fuck with one of them, chances are the others will get involved.
"How do I look?" the guy with his glasses asks. "Think I look smarter?"
"Wouldn't take much effort to accomplish that," I mutter.
"What the fuck was that?"
"I said—"
"Yeah, I heard you," the guy spits. "What, you think you're better than us? Is that—"
"Fuck off, Brad," I hear, just before Blake walks into the room. He looks between everyone inside for a long moment before his eyes land on me, and then they're flitting on past me. "Give her the glasses back."
"Come on, Blake," the guy—Brad—says. "I thought you hated this chick."
"Give her back the glasses," Blake says, calm and dangerous. "Now."
With a roll of his eyes Brad does just that. I fold them and carefully hang them from my collar instead of putting them back on. I'm a little dazed as I sidestep Brad on my way into the hallway. Did Blake just come to my rescue? Did that really just happen?
Someone grabs my arm, but I recognize Blake's hands, obviously. They've touched practically my whole body, at this point. "Are you okay?" he asks, looking genuinely concerned. "They didn't, like—"
"I'm fine," I say. A thank you should be tacked on there, but I can't force the words out of my mouth.
"I told you not to come," he says. "I told you that you shouldn't. That you don't fit in here. And look what happened."
How is saying that any different than what happened in the kitchen? I don't fit in here, and all that happened in the kitchen was a few guys enforcing that, as if I wasn't aware and they had to remind me where I stand in these kinds of situations. And here's Blake, doing the exact same thing.
Instead of throwing my drink at him, the way I want to, I shove it at him. Blake takes it with a confused look, and I spin on my heels, heading for the door. I don't look back once.
Blake is one hundred percent right. I shouldn't have come.
On the way back
to campus I send Cadence and Emma a text, telling them I left. I send Lucas one, too, because I owe it to the guy. It's not Lucas's fault his friends and teammates are assholes. He was just trying to be nice, inviting me, because like I thought at the time, when he asked me to come, he doesn't seem to be all that aware of social status, or the fact that some people just do not hang out with other people. That's just how it works, but that's not how it seems to work in Lucas's mind.
People are still celebrating when I get back to the dorms, even though it's a Thursday. I walk past those in the hallway, walk past open doors with music spilling out, and I know that it'll have to end soon, that someone will complain and it'll get blissfully silent. I can't wait.
When I get to the room I lock the door and look at myself in the mirror before messing up my hair so it looks more like it normally does, and then I shut off the light and fall into bed.
My phone rings six times, and it buzzes across the desk with a text even more, but I don't bother answering it. Instead I pull my pillow over my head and curl up facing the wall, telling myself I'm not upset. Not with those assholes at the party, not with Blake being a good person for five seconds only to revert back to himself right afterwards. Not with Blake for grinding up on that girl which, for reasons beyond me, seems to stick out above all else.
It's got to be late, maybe two or three, when Blake comes into the room. He stumbles, door shutting loudly behind him, and he laughs at it before turning the lock. He bumps into his own dresser, seems to trip over nothing but his feet (that's what it sounds like, anyway) and he tosses his shoes into the corner of the room before...
He crawls into bed behind me, smelling like a fucking brewery. And I tense, hand curling where it's gripping my pillow to keep it over my head. But Blake easily pulls it away from me, even though he's apparently fucking plastered if he honestly thinks this is his bed.
Only he doesn't. He knows it's my bed, because he tucks my extra pillow under his head, curls up against my back, and whispers "Go back to sleep," with his lips against my neck.